


will ye go lassie, go

by KeyDog (BannedBloodOranges)



Series: It's a big galaxy, Mr Scott [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Beam me up tissues, Bittersweet, Comfort, F/M, Family, Fluff, Illness, M/M, Old Age, Old Married Uhotty, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/KeyDog
Summary: Her black hair is frizzed with silver at the edges, like how the dilithium sparks when ye place her in so nice and gentle, cracks of light and time as they Warp 10 out of danger, and it be right that light be in her hair, her skin,  even in them nails she keeps so long and pretty (that catch on his cheeks, and sting more than a wee bit, but he don't mind, no.)Scotty and Uhura, and the end.





	will ye go lassie, go

**Author's Note:**

> Non-profit fun only.
> 
> The title is taken from "Wild Mountain Thyme" a famous Scottish love song.
> 
> m'eudail - my darling, my dear.

_Tell me_  
_did you fall from a shooting **star**_

_Drops of Jupiter, _Train

* * *

"Scotty, dear." They've propped up her up all nice, crisp white pillows, colourful blankets all the colours of 'er homeland. He knows that, he cannae feel it too, although wide plains of grass and sky, and the damp hills of Scotland 'ave none in common, he knows what it mean to be homesick. Maybe that be why they got on so well, such a genial lass she was, her on the deck and 'im down below, manning the engines to keep 'em all afloat. "You've not done up your collar. You'll catch your death."

Oh, aye. Her tied up to all these beeping gizmos, all regrown organs in her soft tummy, and all she fusses about is the bit of bare neck where his plump chin is red from the chill, and it is a cold one out there today, no mistakin'.

Her black hair is frizzed with silver at the edges, like how the dilithium sparks when ye place her in so nice and gentle, cracks of light and time as they Warp 10 out of danger, and it be right that light be in her hair, her skin, even in them nails she keeps so long and pretty (that catch on his cheeks, and sting more than a wee bit, but he don't mind, no.)

He comes close enough so she can correct it, so efficient, even as her hands tremble lightly and he takes 'em for good measure.

"My, cannee say I don't mind bein' this close. Why, still strikin' out stars from the sky with your eyes, lassie."

She sighs, swattin' his shoulder as he laughs, and she's put on her make up this mornin' all right, hasn't she, peach gloss on them smilin' lips and little sparrow wings on them eyes, flutterin' like wee birds.

"Scotty!" She admonishes, but her hands settle on his shoulders, strokin' along, and he 'as to ask the question.

"How ye feelin', love?"

"The same, Dear." Aye, he does see it then, the weak in her body, she be so thin now. She'd mourned her legs, she had, the curves she'd tried to 'ard to keep, but she looks no less lovely to 'im, and they kiss, it be as if nothin' has changed, and it hasn't, cos' he be wearing her lipstick now and she giggles like a wee girl and rubs it all over his cheek.

* * *

They had no wee kiddies. No tragedy, really, both of 'em married to the job, 'im to his ship and 'er to her communications, but it would be nice, to 'ave little heads around his knees that creak somethin' painful now, if only for someone to hand 'im his screwdriver.

To see Saavik by Ny's bedside is quite a jump, it is, all the hard lines of the girl as his m'eudail sleeps.

By the bed is a fresh vase of daisies, from C'ptain Kirk, he no doubt, he's been workin' on that allotment like a wild man.

"Admiral Scott," She bows her head. Funny she ain't Spock's kid, although he and Kirk, they treat her as if she be their own.

"Oh no, none of that," He ambles to Ny, takes her hand in his. His darlin' be breathin' shallow. They've only gone and taken off her makeup now, ain't they? He's sure he can understand why, but his Ny is so keen to keep herself independent, demands all the little bits and pieces a true lady needs, and the Doctor had glared at 'im and he'd laughed and said no, not on his account. Why, she could be wearin' a potato sack and she'd still be the most blessed woman to walk the earth, he'd laughed to the Doctor, who looked at 'im all suspicious and why of course, it be Joanna McCoy, who else with them eyes that could send a rabid beast for cover? "Call me Scotty, love."

"Hm." She teases out the word like a spool of chewin' gum. "Sc-o-tty, I wished to impart to Admiral Uhura my..." She furrows her brow at the phrase, but it be no less sweet for it. "...best wishes."

"Aye," Scotty says brightly, "She'll be mighty thankful for it, that she will be."

"Also..." Saavik takes a step toward the bed. She's wearin' the pink gloss Ny bought her for Christmas. "My condolences, Mr Scott."

It makes the entire room potter down, lead balloon in his generous gut, and yes, he _knows_ -

The machine damn well beeps along and he has a fair mind to give it a good kickin', so it can do its job better.

Her eyes flicker and she adds: "I've upset you."

"No, no lassie," He says, lies more like. "I know you mean well."

She stays by Ny's side and talks to her about Kirk (Papa) and Spock (Father) and how they'd gone and 'ad a fight over somethin' silly; the colour of a sehlat's collar.

* * *

Ny always liked a sing-song, fair voice she has, and although his own is not fit for the ears of a lady, and that is what she is, his lady, he sings none the less, for she had asked for it, all his ol' lullabies of his homeland.

_"I will build my love a tower_  
_Near yon' pure crystal fountain_  
_And on it I will build_  
_All the flowers of the mountain_  
_Will ye go, Lassie go..."_

He hums into the shell of her ear as she sleeps, so she knows he be there, but there 'ave been no flickers or kisses for a while now, as she sleeps longer, and that fare be well, she can sleep 'till the angels come home and he'll still be here.

McCoy ages like beef jerky. All 'ough and hard wearin' and ready to break yer teeth. 

"Thought you might like some refreshment." He places the Scotch on the side. Always a man after his own heart, dear Dr McCoy. "Get some rest. That's Doctor's orders, Scotty."

"Ye be a good man," Scotty pipes up. "Gonna join me, Doc?"

"Don't mind if I do, Scotty," McCoy flashes him a smile, pours his own snort into a glass. Just hands Scott the bottle, and what a kind country doctor, he be, a prize if he ever relocated to the highlands. He savours his drink and turns to the bed, liftin' his chin in thought.

"How is she?"

"Aye." Scotty touches her hand and shakes the bottle with the other. "Be mighty cross to see me with this, I tell ye."

McCoy nods and swirls the scotch in his glass.

"Aye," Scotty decompresses like an old engine takin' a final shot. "I'm pretty sure she'll be wakin' up soon."

"Yes." McCoy's hand be so tight on his shoulder. Squeezing down, takin' the blood. "I'm sure."

* * *

Chekov and Sulu get lost on their way to the hospital, and he has to ring them, doesn't he, and call 'em bloody useless, and Ny laughs, taking the comm from him as he huffs and sardonically asks if they were "lost in a blizzard."

* * *

Awful nice for Admiral Kirk to visit, Spock in tow with his lyre, a funny lookin' thing he could never get the hang of. Ny can just about sit up, with his help, and hangs onto his arm as Spock plucks away and Kirk tells funny stories and soon the shadows are so long he didn't even notice how tired his dear be gettin', her head slippin' down his arm.

"I believe we have outstayed our welcome," quips Spock. He stands straighter than all of 'em, the old Commander. Outlive 'em all, he will.

Scotty lays Ny back onto the bed, supporting her head. Kirk helps, even as his ol' hubby warns him about his back.

"Thank ye for comin', Kirk," Scotty nods at the pair. "She had a mighty fine time."

"Of course," Kirk smiles. A passing nurse shoots a glance and a giggle and Spock reigns in close behind 'im like a dog with a bone. Still a lady killer, his C'ptain. "If there's anything we can do, anything at all, please let us know."

"We will keep your needs imperative," Spock adds, his hand securely on Kirk's arm.

"I'll keep that in me thoughts," Scotty shakes Kirk's hand. "Thank ye, C'ptain."

It's an ol' trick of his tongue, force of habit, but Kirk has a faraway look in his eyes as Spock steers him away.

* * *

He's an engineer. Chief Officer Scott, of the USS Enterprise. If they'll just let 'im look at the machine, he'll fix it. He's gotten 'em out of many a natty situation, just let 'im have a look and he'll -

"Scotty." She's awake, his darling dear. He fumbles at the wires and she takes his hands. "Monty, love."

Speak his given name and he freezes up like a wee bairn, and her hands are on his cheeks, turning him away from his machines, into her eyes, wide and dark and so warm, like brown sherry when the sunlight hits, and oh love, oh _Nyota._

"Oh please, no, love," He breaks, weeps. "Please no, _m'eudail._ Please..."

"Monty." Her voice is thick but clear. Such a lovely way she has, about her; his lady. "It's time. I think it's right."

He kisses her, tender, feelin' the stick of her lips.

She kisses his head, strokes down his beard, and absently buttons his collar.

* * *

Sunshine.

She would 'ave liked that, she would.

They're all there when they lay her down, all in dress uniform, and there be cadets and ambassadors and admirals, so many. Spock like a glacier and the C'ptain soft and trembling in his ol' age, Sulu and his daughter with Chekov sobbin' quietly into his cuff (still so young to them all) and McCoy with the sky reflectin' in his eyes.

They all creep around 'im, touch his shoulder and speak so low and fine, as if he be crystal glass, as if he be all shatterin'.

_Oh my dear, _He looks at the dip in the earth, so deep. _I be shattered already, lassie._

Saavik touches his shoulder. He takes her hand, feels the wee kid jump, but she hangs on, and he hangs on, as they lie the flag over the casket (gaudy, that be, militant. Ny would like flowers, songsheets, peach lipstick.)

* * *

_was it everything you wanted to find -_

**"It's a big galaxy, Mr Scott."**

* * *

The stars are out above, too many to count, not that he tried to count 'em all, anyway, but they reach so far, starlight runnin' like marrows in the bone of the universe. But that be the problem with stars, when they reach you, it's only old light, and that star may be fired up and burning away somewhere, so all ye get is an echo.

Nyota didn't believe that. All the science in the world on that ship, they 'ad, and she could moon over the romance of faraway stars, and say the galaxy was too vast for it all to be so simple, that there be such a thing as a soul, and that hers be stardust.

"Aye." He toasts to the sky. Tears have run rivulets into his smile."Ye were right, lassie."

The stars wink back; he is not alone.

* * *

_and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_


End file.
